


Waking Dreams

by epiproctan



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i don't know what to say about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epiproctan/pseuds/epiproctan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ren can't sleep like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact a healthy man has an average of 3-5 erections per night while sleeping

The room is dark, but Ren doesn’t need to see. Everything he needs to know he can _feel_. Like the smoothness of Aoba’s bare skin against the arm he has thrown protectively over him. The shifting of Aoba’s breath as he exhales shallow snores. The deep, permeating bliss that warms his chest as he drowsily moves his cramping arm, pulling Aoba closer before shutting his eyes and trying to return to sleep. Nights like this, Ren wishes he could stay here forever and just cradle Aoba to him in the gently protective way he never could before he had this body, and feel warm, and feel grateful, and feel _right_.

Aoba, still unconscious, sighs deeply, shifts against Ren, presses his full self to him. Ren doesn't think he’d have trouble getting back to sleep until this happens. Now it’s different, and he isn’t really sure if sleep is something he even wants anymore, because there's something against his stomach, digging into him a little bit. Aoba’s hard.

Well, that happens in sleep sometimes. Ren has known that for years. It happens to him too, now that he has his own human body. It’s a natural thing, and there’s not really any reason for him to dwell on it. He can’t do anything about it right now anyway. Not when Aoba is still snoring. Even if he too is starting to feel a strain between his legs, a whisper of begging in his hips. Just thinking about Aoba will do that to him, though. Especially thinking about mostly-naked, aroused Aoba clinging to his body, like he is right now.

Aoba is asleep. Ren should be asleep. Now’s not the time.

Aoba moans quietly, and through the sleep-slurred sound only one word is comprehensible. _Ren’s name_.

Though Aoba is still breathing deep and even, Ren abruptly feels wide awake. He clutches Aoba to his chest, jolting when Aoba’s hip presses into his stiffening cock. Suddenly sleep is absolutely impossible. He lays a kiss against Aoba’s hair, wishing for more. For _something._ He wants to be inside of Aoba, connect with him, feel them move together.

He shifts again and shivers as they slide against each other, only two thin and dampening layers of fabric separating parts of themselves that he’d rather be touching. He can hear his blood crashing through his veins at the brushes of their skin and the way he can almost taste Aoba’s cum on the back of his tongue, he wants it there so _badly_.

Ren presses his pelvis forwards, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but it only builds when Aoba lethargically grinds against him and moans through his dream, louder now. Ren silently begs the movement to stop and stifles a desperate whimper in the back of his throat. He wriggles, trying to separate himself from the temptation, but Aoba clings to him insistently. Ren is trapped and needing. He can’t do this, he can’t lose to these primal drives, he should leave him be, Aoba is _asleep_ and that’s _bad_ ….

Gripping Aoba’s hips, he holds him against his lower body and thrusts to rub against him. He continues the movement, and each time Ren pushes harder, trying to increase the friction and pressure. It’s not enough, of course, not like being inside of Aoba, or feeling his tongue gliding down his shaft, but having his warmth in his arms and moving against him, smelling the faint scent of his skin…it’s enough to drive Ren on. He rolls his hips hard, grinding into Aoba’s upper thigh where it meets with the rest of his body, and he can feel Aoba’s sweet enticing hardness against him too.

With semi-conscious movements, Ren reaches down and drags his boxers down his legs and then gently does the same to Aoba, so that their bare erections brush against each other. Ren sighs, and at the same time he hears a choked groan from Aoba. He hopes he’s having a nice dream, enough sense overcoming the heat for a moment to be grateful that Aoba is a heavy sleeper.

Ren wants to fall into nice dreams too, but his reality is that he’s far too eager to stop this now. His cock is twitching, throbbing, pleading, leaking precum onto the skin of Aoba’s stomach. There’s an irresistible burning inside of him, a fire that Aoba is somehow stoking even while asleep. He wants to get closer, be within him, hear his sighs and whines in the dark.

He pictures it, imagines Aoba’s face dripping with sweat and saliva and tears of pleasure, Aoba squirming under him, his slick body bared for him, nipples pink and hard, cock standing, waiting, imploring. He imagines Aoba’s perfect glistening and swollen lips encircling his shaft, heated expression teasing him from below, his tongue tip darting out to shove against his slit. He thinks of Aoba’s insides, tight and hot and _amazing_ around him, quivering and contracting and driving the pleasure through him with every thrust. Aoba’s eyes, locked on him, telling him exactly how much he wants him and loves him with that glassy desire and compelling emotion.

Ren is fucking his own hand now, his fingers tight around himself. It’s not as good as the real thing, but every time he pushes forward, his head drags along Aoba’s abdomen, and the friction sends shocks of electric pleasure into his legs, and the hazy humiliating knowledge of what he’s doing makes him _ache_ in every part of himself that’s touching Aoba.

He’s getting there and he’s getting there fast, and he can feel it all through his clenched muscles and curled toes and sweat-drenched skin. Aoba’s name forms in his mouth, familiar and warm and hoarse and ragged, once, twice. He wishes he could release inside Aoba, become part of him, give him something back, but that’s impossible right now, so he can only come _on_ him and pretend it's the same and imagine Aoba’s head falling back onto the pillow moaning his name. He doesn’t want to dirty Aoba, his precious beautiful Aoba, but at the same time he does, he wants it _so badly_ , and all his logic and restraint and self-control is long gone anyway.

His legs twitch with his need and he tries to rein himself in, but he can’t anymore, and the best he can do is stroke himself ferociously again and again, and then the heat flashes through him like lightning. He draws in shaky shallow breaths,

and lets himself go.

It rolls through him and he shuts his eyes tight, indulging in the relief that sweeps up his torso and down his legs. It’s nice, but he’s disappointed. It’s not as good as when it happens to Aoba too, together, with him. It’s just not as pleasing physically or emotionally when he does it to himself, and he finds himself regretting it. Maybe Aoba had helped him get there, but Aoba hadn’t felt a thing, hadn’t benefitted at all, and that makes it all pointless. If it isn’t for Aoba, then what’s the meaning behind it?

He has to clean Aoba up. Now that the fevered cloud of the moment has passed, he feels nothing but guilt for releasing himself on him. Even worse, while he was sleeping. Lamenting his own lack of self-control in this area and trying to bury his shame under action, he slowly starts to move towards the bedside table, reaching for the tissues. He can’t quite make it, so he tries to twist and bring up his other hand, accidentally brushing along Aoba’s still-hard cock in the process.

This action is met with a stifled cry, and he glances up to find Aoba’s eyes shining bright and feverish in the moonlight, fixed on him. He freezes.

“Aoba,” he says, feeling a confused and embarrassed blush creeping onto his cheeks, grateful that it’s too dark to see properly. “How long have you been awake?”

Aoba reaches up and brushes his fingers against Ren’s cheek. From what Ren can see of his expression, it might almost be mischievous. “A little while.”

“I didn’t know,” Ren replies apologetically, his heart pounding. This is mortifying. Aoba already knows how little self-control Ren has when it comes to him, but…. “I thought you were still asleep.”

Aoba gives his words a shrug, and through the darkness Ren can make out the glimmer of his eyes as he averts them. “I wanted to see what you’d do.”

“I’m sorry,” Ren blurts out. He can feel the embarrassment and guilt eating away at his stomach, making his fingers curl into fists.

“For what?”

“For doing…that…when I thought you were asleep.”

Aoba laughs, quiet and breathy. “It’s okay. It was mean of me to make you think I was asleep.”

“Ah, no…,” Ren says, the embarrassment choking him. “I didn’t…intend to….”

Aoba catches his wrist and pulls him closer again. “I said it’s okay.”

Ren is still humiliated, still too hot in his face, but Aoba’s face is close so he tilts his head to swipe a lick across his cheek, and then Aoba brings their lips together. It’s as soft as the moonlight in the room and lazily transforms into something warm and loose and invading. Ren can feel Aoba moving with him now, he can feel them together. It’s good.

When Aoba pulls back, lips wet, he whispers, “Want to keep going?”

Ren doesn’t need to be asked twice.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for everything


End file.
